


The Violence of Jealousy

by meyghasa



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2261031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meyghasa/pseuds/meyghasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clear is a hit in his new job at the Black Needle, but Sly doesn't like to share.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Violence of Jealousy

There was a particular way Clear lit up whenever Aoba entered the room.  Aside from the stunning, almost goofy grin that brightened his face and the sparkle that shone in his eyes, there was a way that his spine stiffened and he leaned forward just a little.  If he had a tail, it would have wagged.  Anyone could see it, and while Aoba typically brushed it off with a nervous laugh or an annoyed huff, Clear made no effort whatsoever to hide his excitement or his adoration.

What surprised Aoba, in moments of reflection, was how Clear reacted the same way to Sly Blue.  Aoba was always there, tucked in a corner of his own mind, aware but not aware.  Sly treated Clear differently—not badly, exactly, but stern and sometimes dismissive, and definitely controlling.  But Clear loved it, loved him, just as much as he ever loved Aoba.  To Clear, Master and Aoba-san were just two sides of the coin of his devotion.

Clear had gotten better at recognizing Sly, too. Sure, there was the telltale golden glint in Aoba’s eyes, but even more than that, there was a certain way Sly carried himself, arrogant but apathetic.  There was the barest careless slouch in his posture, the way he stuffed his hands in his pockets, the way he darted his eyes around when he entered a room like he was preparing for an assailant.  There was the snide drawl or the dominant snarl in his voice. Clear picked up on all of these things almost instantaneously, so the moments where he called out a cheerful, “Aoba-san!” and got a narrow-eyed glare in response were almost entirely in the past.

So when Sly sauntered his way into Black Needle one evening, the assorted Dry Juice and Benishigure members hid their collective smiles when Clear jumped to attention with a smile and chirped out a pleased, “Master!” from behind the counter. 

“Hey.”  Sly meandered over, hands in the pockets of his coat, and took his place on an empty barstool.  He greeted the nearby Rib members with a casual, smirking salute before turning his attention to Clear, who gravitated towards him like a magnet.  “I want a drink." 

“Your usual, Master?”  Sly nodded and Clear outright beamed, his face suffused with a cheerful glow.  A small black apron with a stylized Black Needle logo was tied around his waist, and he wiped his hands carefully on it before picking up a glass for Sly. It had taken a lot of practice, and more than a few broken bottles and instances of dramatic weeping, but Clear was now almost perfectly at home in his position as bartender.  He poured with efficiency and even managed a flourish of the bottle as he put it away.

Sly snickered as the rest of the patrons clapped appreciatively.  “Doesn’t take much to impress you assholes, does it?” he muttered, low enough that only Clear’s sharp hearing made it out.  He swiped the glass from the counter, slammed in back in one gulp, and placed it back with a loud thump. 

Clear kept his glass sometimes full, using a deftness Sly would never have expected—and frankly didn’t even notice—to keep him from getting completely hammered.  He knew Aoba rarely drank, and his body wasn’t used to a lot of alcohol. And while he would have been happy to carry his Master home, something told him that neither Sly nor Aoba would be very appreciative of such a chivalrous action.

Besides, Clear was busy.  As the night wore on, patrons drifted in and out of the shop. Sly remained a fixture, and the longer he stayed, the angrier he got.  Clear smiled and laughed and bowed and chatted with every patron, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his expression overjoyed.  In return the patrons ate him up, insisting that he drink even when he refused, insisting that he was second only to Mizuki, insisting that he come drinking with them sometime when he wasn’t working.  In fact, the only time Clear actively acknowledged Sly’s presence was when he was filling his drink.  His eyes darted over to his master often, but Sly was too busy seething at everyone else to notice.

Sly would never afterwards be able to pinpoint exactly when his patience snapped.  He didn’t like to see Clear so popular, so involved with everyone but him. He was Clear’s master, damn it, and Clear was supposed to cater to his every whim.  So to see him like this, smiling and attentive to everyone in the room, was a torture that he frankly, and silently, couldn’t bear.

He jerked to his feet, sending his barstool skittering backwards.  A few sets of eyes turned to him, but the only pair he cared about were magenta and worried 

“I’m going in the back.”

Clear waved his hands in front of him, shaking his head violently back and forth.  “Master! Mizuki-san doesn’t let anyone back there except employees!  I’m so sorry, really I am!”

“Mizuki lets me back there all the time. Fuck you if you think you can stop me.” It was a lie that Sly wasn’t sure why he was telling.  Why did he have to justify himself?  Why did he have to make something up to get Clear to himself, and why did he want to?

Shaking his head to clear it out, he stalked to the back room and slammed the door behind him, confident that Clear would follow. Clear of course did follow, stammering a hundred apologies and looking worried and upset. “Master, you really can’t be back here. Mizuki-san was very, very firm that even though this place is very easy-going, no one should—“

“Shut the fuck up.  I’m so tired of you talking,” Sly spat, shoving Clear to the side and kicking the door closed behind him.  He spun around, meeting Clear’s wide-eyed, kicked-puppy gaze, and his anger boiled over.  “All fucking night, all you’ve done is talk,” he said, his voice low and dangerous as he stalked forward. “Talk.  Laugh.  Even fucking flirt, even though I was sitting right the fuck there.”  Another step, and he was right in Clear’s space, looking up at the robot with fire in his eyes. 

Clear looked dumbfounded and hurt, his mouth hanging open as he stared.  His master had never spoken to him like this. Not like this.  Not angry, _really_ angry, not in such a way that Clear’s stomach roiled with regret and a tinge of fear. When Sly reached up and grabbed a handful of white hair, tugging Clear’s head down to his level, Clear whimpered. When Sly kissed him, he trembled 

It wasn’t a nice kiss.  Clear was convinced there was no love in it—but there was, deep down, in a spot Sly refused to touch.  It was furious, biting, a claim of possession more than a gesture of romantic feeling.  It was full of teeth and tongue and fire, and under the fear, Clear felt a flicker of desire in his stomach that almost worried him.  To his credit and Sly’s surprise, Clear met him.  He wasn’t as fierce, but he took everything Sly had to give and gave a bit of his own. 

Sly pulled away sharply, his vice grip in Clear’s hair keeping the robot’s face level with his, a string of saliva still connecting their lower lips.  “You are _mine_ ,” Sly snarled. “Mine and no one else’s. And apparently I have to fucking remind you.”

Clear made a strangled, confused noise when Sly jerked his head to one side, none too gentle, and attacked his neck. He bit down hard, sure to leave teeth marks, and sucked violently at Clear’s skin until it bruised deep. Then he jerked Clear’s head to the other side, repeating the process before moving forward. He left a trail of angry welts in his wake, proof of his ownership that no one would be able to deny. “I’m going to burn your fucking scarf so you can never hide this.  And when they heal, I’m going to do it all over again.  Don’t you ever, ever forget that you are _mine_.”

“Master,” Clear whispered, unsure of how to react in the face of Sly’s fury.  “I—“

“Didn’t I say to stop talking?” Sly snapped. He glared up at Clear, who obediently shut his mouth.  “You can’t follow one fucking order,” he continued, shoving Clear’s shoulders until his back smacked into a shelving unit.  “I guess I have to remind you of a lot today.”  He reached around Clear’s waist and yanked on the cord tying his apron on hard enough that it tore in half.  The apron fluttered to the ground as Sly ripped at Clear’s jeans, popping the fly open with enough force that the button went flying to the opposite side of the storeroom. He tugged the jeans down until they were bunched around Clear’s thighs and dropped to his knees, ripping Clear’s underwear clean in half until his cock was free, already half-hard.

“Heh.  You’re actually getting off on this a little, aren’t you? I always knew you were a kinky fuck,” Sly sneered, glancing up at Clear’s flushed face.  Holding Clear’s cock at the base, Sly dragged his tongue up the underside, swirling it around the tip, then repeating the process until Clear was fully hard and gripping the metal shelf behind him. Sly pulled back enough to look up again, the hard slash of his smile like a knife.  “You can moan as loud as you want.  Maybe it will teach those assholes out there who you really belong to.”

Clear’s response was a strangled groan as Sly slid his cock fully into his mouth, sucking hard.  His tongue swiped back and forth as he pushed Clear deeper, face pressed to his skin, swallowing around him in such a way as to make Clear slam his head back hard enough that the shelf rattled behind him. Sly bobbed his head up and down, filling the storeroom with loud slurping mixed with Clear’s moans, and without any prep or warning shoved two fingers deep into Clear’s ass.

“Master!” Clear gasped, one hand immediately flying up to his mouth.  He pressed the back of his hand to his lips, closing his eyes and trying to keep his voice down despite Sly’s permission to be loud.  He couldn’t stop his hips from moving, alternately jerking forward slightly into Sly’s willing, skilled mouth and back against Sly’s probing fingers. When Sly bit down, hard enough to sting but not hard enough to actually hurt, Clear felt his knees buckle. It was only his master’s free arm sandwiching his stomach between it and the metal shelf that kept him upright as his eyes rolled back into his head and he groaned with pleasure.

Sly was enthusiastic at the best of times, and now with something to prove, he was relentless.  He sucked and licked and shoved and bit and swallowed, and Clear was putty under his ministrations.  His embarrassment had long since vanished and he was panting and moaning without any thought to the crowd outside.  When he finally came, it was down Sly’s throat, and Sly swallowed greedily before pulling his mouth off with a loud pop and tugging his fingers free.

When he was released from Sly’s grip, Clear slumped to the floor, legs tangled in his jeans, and fell forward against his master, forehead to shoulder.  Sly raised a hand to Clear’s head and stroked his hair, almost tender after the violence of their tryst.  “Who do you belong to?”

With a croaking voice, Clear whimpered, “You, Master. Only you.”


End file.
